


B was for Blane, C is for Charlie

by Anna (adoring_audience)



Series: A Storm's Gonna Come Universe [7]
Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-18
Updated: 2013-03-18
Packaged: 2017-12-05 17:18:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/725830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adoring_audience/pseuds/Anna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Teenage Gus has a favor to ask.</p>
            </blockquote>





	B was for Blane, C is for Charlie

**Author's Note:**

> This one takes a big jump into the future.

Present, June 2017  
  
 **Brian’s POV**  
  
I hear the phone ring and reach blindly for the receiver, eyes still focused on the copy in front of me.  
  
“Hey, Dad,” the voice of my offspring greets me.  
  
He pauses and waits for me to greet him back. I don’t. He wants something. He always does when he stops to give me the time to speak up. I swivel in my chair to face the window behind me and lean back. This should be fun. Gus has never learned the art of subtlety.  
  
“Dad?” He asks after a while hesitantly, voice colored insecure by my silence.  
  
“Still here,” I let him know, not giving him an inch. If Justin was here, he’d scold me for pulling my kid’s strings like that. But the twat always does take my kid’s side, so I don’t get to fuck with his mind that often. I plan to take full advantage of the fact that Justin’s not here right now.  
  
Gus, apparently having collected himself a little, starts over with renewed resolve. I don’t know who he got his eternal optimism from. I don’t thinks it’s in his genes. Justin’s influence, I suppose. Or maybe he spends too much time around the twins. It’s hard to frown when you’re exposed to their laughter every day.  
  
“Who’s your best friend, Dad?” He asks me with that intonation that tells me I’m not supposed to answer, but if I were, the expected answer would need to be ‘you’.  
  
“Justin,” I answer dryly.  
  
He sighs impatiently, and re-phrases, “Okay, who’s your second best friend?”  
  
“Mikey,” I reply, equally unperturbed.  
  
I can hear him take a deep and, what I think is supposed to be a calming, breath before saying, “Third best?”  
  
I’m wondering how much longer he’s going to keep it up. In a bored tone I reply, “Your mom.”  
  
“Tell me, Dad,” he starts, losing the little bit of patience and completely forgetting that he’s on a mission, “where exactly do I, the fruit of your loins, your only child, the bearer of your name, come in your loooong list of friendly people?”  
  
I roll my eyes and have to suppress a grin. He’s too easy. “Depends on the time of the month; usually somewhere between annoying brat and vexatious cash dispenser. And did you just honestly use the phrase ‘fruit of my loins’?” I don’t mention the fact that, officially, he does not bear my name though, we’ve all accepted him calling himself Kinney a long time ago. But since it’s always been a source for frustration for him, I refrain from reminding him.  
  
“Never mind, Dad. I’m gonna talk to Jus.” Gus pouts. Little shit, he knows exactly how to get to me.  
  
“Okay, okay,” I relent.  
  
“You will not mock me?”  
  
“I promise to take every word seriously,” I assure him. “What do you want?”  
  
“I have a date Friday night, and I was hoping you would let me borrow your car?” Gus asked hesitantly.  
  
“Which one?”  
  
“The Corvette?” Gus asks in response and I can almost hear him biting his lip nervously.  
  
“No.” I gotta give him credit for trying, though. Wait a moment... “Hold on! How exactly was Justin supposed to help you with this? You wanted to borrow his SUV?”  
  
Justin’s one-car-only policy is still a thorn in my eyes whenever I walk into our garage, and a constant source for ridicule. I know he needs a big car for his paintings and art supplies and if it has to be an SUV, then Cuylen is definitely one of the better choices, but why can’t he get himself another one, one that is hot and fast? Whenever I bring the topic up, he threatens me to get a Volvo. Who the fuck drives a Volvo?! Let me rephrase that: Who the fuck, with millions in his bank account, drives a Volvo?! The talk always ends with me shutting up about the issue before he actually dares to follow through with his threat. I will not have a Volvo in my garage!  
  
“No,” Gus admits. “I was hoping he could talk to you and—“  
  
“And what?” I ask suspiciously.  
  
“Well, you know, psych you up. So you’d be mellow enough and say yes.”  
  
Another issue that has been discussed to death. I wish our fucking conglomerate of a family would stop thinking that Justin held some magic key in his possession with which he could unlock the impenetrable ice shell surrounding Brian Kinney’s heart. Now my own kid was under the fallacious assumption also. Swell!  
  
“Justin is not some superhero with magical powers—" I start with my lecture but am rudely interrupted.  
  
“Yeah, yeah, I heard that already. Can we get back to my problem, Dad?”  
  
“Choose another car,” I finally relent.  
  
Gus needs a moment to think about the indefinite possibilities. He’s about to answer as I fall into his word, “Nothing Italian.”  
  
He pouts a little but recovers quickly and perks up again. “The Camaro?”  
  
My mind unwantedly conjures up pictures of my beloved night black ’69 SS wrapped around a tree, while my seventeen year old son tries to convince me that he has no idea how the fuck  _that_ happened because he could swear that only a second ago there was no tree in sight.  
  
Not yet ready to give in, I try to distract him. “Where’s the sudden interest in the classics coming from?” I ask. Ever since Gus has been old enough to notice, he preferred the later models of BMW, Mustang and Co, and everything Italian.  
  
“I told you, I have a date Friday night. I need something to impress.”  
  
“Your date’s into cars?”  
  
“Totally. Charlie knows all there is to know about them, like a walking encyclopedia.”  
  
Charlie’s new. But I’m not surprised. Gus – in many ways – is a lot like me. He meets people easily. He doesn’t have to try; they flock around him. It’s partly his good looks and his charm, but even more it’s the aura of sincere interest in the people around him. I guess that’s where the similarities stop. Justin says Gus is very open-minded and doesn’t judge because of the circumstances that he grew up in – free of prejudice of any kind. He listens and takes care of people dear to him; that’s a quality he picked up from Justin, I’ve no doubt.  
  
“What self-respecting fag has such a high interest in cars?”  
  
“You, Dad?” Gus asks sardonically and I can almost see him raise an eyebrow.  
  
“You only need to know what looks good and which one goes best with an Armani or a Hugo Boss.” I explain. My son still has a lot to learn. He’s seventeen – he’s lucky the jeans and T-shirt look works for him now.  
  
“So, what do you say? Can I have the Camaro?” Gus pleads.  
  
I almost say yes, but then suddenly I hear Justin’s voice in my head, cautioning me to ask for details. So I do. If he hears that I let Gus drive a sports car to impress a date that neither of us has met before, he’s gonna have my balls. I long ago stopped hoping things like that wouldn’t reach his ears. Somehow they always do – little twat knows everything. So I switch into parent mode and clear my throat in, what I hope, is an authoritative manner.  
  
“Gus, how old is this Charlie?” I cringe as soon as the words leave my mouth. Oh, God, I’m one of them. I actually used the phrase  _this XY_. How parent-y is that? I shake my head to get rid of those alarming thoughts.  
  
“Oh, shit, is Jus with you?” Gus asks instead of an answer.  
  
“No, he’s not. You called me at Kinnetik, or have you forgotten?”  
  
“But you asked me about Charlie.” Gus is clearly confused. So am I, sonny boy, so am I.  
  
“So?”  
  
“You never ask me this shit. Jus does.  _He’s_  the responsible adult, remember?” He pauses a moment, then laughs. A heartily, body-shaking laugh. “Oh, my god, he’s got you so whipped!”  
  
“So, I take it, you don’t want the car?” I ask with a disguised threat in my voice. He immediately stops laughing and becomes serious.  
  
“No! I do! I do,” he exclaims. Then adds in a subdued tone, “I’m sorry. Please, continue.”  
  
I inquire some basic information about Charlie – age, school, parents, criminal records – and take great care not to call him  _this Charlie_.  
  
“Charlie’s eighteen, and we met in school. Where else would I meet people? It’s not like you’d let me go into clubs.” Another hotly discussed topic. Gus will never know that I’m not the one objecting to him going to Babylon. “I don’t know the parents yet – it’s going to be our first date, remember? And I’m pretty sure she’s not a con artist.”  
  
“She?!!” I don’t quite manage to keep my voice from rising a few octaves.  
  
“Yes. She,” Gus confirms calmly. “She hates to be called Charlotte. She prefers Charlie.”  
  
I sigh and feel like the rug has been pulled from under me. A second ago my world was perfect. Now my son likes pussy? How the fuck is that possible? As I said, Gus likes people. And they like him. He doesn’t differentiate between sexes when it comes to romantic relations. He likes beauty but, I suppose due to growing up with two artists for parents, detects it in the most unlikely of places. He’s fascinated by quirks, oddities, and all things uncommon. He was six when Justin voiced his opinion about Gus’ sexuality for the first time. I guess I owe my blond twat fifty bucks. God, he’ll be gloating for weeks.  
  
“What happened to that nice kid from last week – Blane?”  
  
“Dad,” Gus starts in that you’re-only-four-years-old-so-I’m-going-to-explain-this-very-slowly voice, “you hated Blane. You made lame jokes about his name.”  
  
“I’m sure I liked him better than I will Charlie.”  
  
“And you know that because?”  
  
Isn’t it obvious? “Well, for one, he was a  _he_.” I try to think of something else that I liked about Blane – What a stupid name is that? Who names his kid Blane? No wonder he had dyed his hair blue and green – I come up blank.  
  
“Your logic is impeccable,” Gus drawls. “Are you sure I can’t have this conversation with Justin? At least, he’ll take me seriously.”  
  
“Genealogy complains are to be directed at the guy upstairs. Sorry, kid, you’re stuck with me,” I return. “So, do we get to meet Charlie?”  
  
Gus laughs. “Yeah, sure, that’s gonna happen. I can see it clearly – it’s gonna be so hot. I promise her a surprise and she’ll be all excited and then I announce we’re going to drive out to West Virginia to meet my parents. I don’t think so, Dad. She’ll freak.” After a second Gus adds, “I might just as well wear a plaid shirt, trousers that show off my ankles, pop some pencils in the pocket, and complete the ensemble with suspenders in mustard yellow.”  
  
What do you know, the kid’s got some fashion sense, after all. Guess the jeans and T-shirt look is not just worn for convenience. But I answer with a muttered, “Sometimes plaid shirts can be sexy.” I wait. Sooner or later, he will realize I’ve not yet backed down from my initial question. And sure as hell, a couple of moments later, Gus has caught on.  
  
“Oh, my god! You’re serious!” he exclaims.  
  
“As a heart attack.”  
  
“Wasn’t it bad enough that Blane and I ran into you two on Liberty Avenue?” I have to grin at that while Gus continues in an accusatory tone, “Making out like some horny teenagers in an alley behind Babylon?”  
  
“Your point being?”  
  
His voice rises to a screeching disbelief, “It’s  _your_ fucking club! Couldn’t you find a place  _inside_ to fuck?”  
  
“We weren’t fucking,” I interject.  
  
“ _Yet_!” I truly didn’t think his voice could get any higher. I’ll know better from now on. “I had to lecture the two of you on responsible behavior,” Gus continues with no respect for my eardrum. “In front of my boyfriend! Who probably thought I was some old-fashioned, uptight, conservative nut case. Dad, if you force me to introduce Charlie to you two, you’re gonna catapult embarrassment to a whole new level.”  
  
“You’ll tell her you need to go by your dads’ house to pick up the keys to the loft. And, surprise, surprise, your dads are gonna be there,” I suggest.  
  
“Pick up the keys? You’ll let me have the loft for the night?!”  
  
I shrug even though I know he can’t see it through the phone. I know he ‘heard’ me. Now I just need something strong enough to make me forget that I just offered my loft for heterosexual physical activities. Justin won’t know what hit him when we go to re-christen it Sunday.  
  
“You’re the best, Dad. Can I say that I love you?” Gus starts gushing.  
  
“You spend too much time with lesbians,” I tell him, thinking of Linds and her new wife, but can’t help but smile and reply, “Me too, sonny boy.”  
  
“I know, Dad,” he says. “Tell Jus I love him too, and the twins. Can I pick the car up at the loft so I don’t have to drive out to Britin?” As usual, he didn’t stop to wait for an answer. “I’ll be over at the loft Friday afternoon to pick up the car, alright?”  
  
“Don’t forget to call before you do. We might be busy,” I remind him.  
  
“I know,” Gus responds. “You two always are.”  
  
  
 **The End.**


End file.
